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Bob Cammarata Some of us have one great story to tell, and some of us have been blessed with adventure after adventure, in pursuit of the Great photo. Bob Cammarata not only has the stories, but he is also a master story teller and phenomenal photographer. Bob is graciously sharing this second story with us: A harrowing tale that he and his brother experienced back in 2006. And yet it is so timely during this period in which Mother Nature has been mercilessly wreaking furious havoc over our entire planet. Links to Bob's other stories: "On Snake Mountain" "When Mother Nature Lends a Hand" ----------------------------------- Thanks so much for visiting "Tales of Relentless Pursuit." If you have a free moment or two, please check out my Photography Website, Your Best Shot, and sign up for the mailing list! And also consider sending the link to this blog to your circle of friends. -- Michelle Alton ----------------------------------- Next Stop Oz!  As an avid outdoorsman, I’ve always been fascinated with the weather. It’s the only thing mankind as a society hasn’t yet figured out how to control. Heck,..our rate of success in forecasting what we predict will happen tomorrow is 50/50 at best (as proven by the times spent shoveling 10 inches of partly cloudy off our driveways). And so the weather remains that last great mystery--Mankind’s final frontier. As an outdoor photographer, it stands to reason that weather-related phenomena have always ranked high among my lofty lists of favorite subjects. Menacing cloud formations, lightning strikes, hailstorms, floods, you name it and I’m there with camera in hand! But sadly, my aspirations to witness and photograph the ultimate display of Nature‘s fury of an actual tornado forming and touching down has forever seemed to be an un-attainable goal. For years I’d envied and admired those guys and gals I’d seen on TV and in movies chasing those menacing storms and was awed by their heroism and their rates of success. They were actually living my dream! Back in June of 2006, while heading home from one of many cross-country road trips, I had what was likely my best opportunity to realize my life-long ambition. It was a sultry summer day on eastbound I#70 as my brother Vince and I descended from the dizzying heights of Colorado’s Vail Pass toward the High Plains. We were headed home from a week of photographing wildlife and scenics in the Rockies and it was immediately apparent how much hotter it was as we traveled through the flatlands east of Denver. It was mid-afternoon and with the summer sun shining brightly, we traversed the interstate through Eastern Colorado toward the Kansas border. And though the sky was clear overhead, we noticed an ominous accumulation of gray clouds several miles to the north which indicated that a storm was brewing. We watched the storm intensify as we drove along and eventually, the photographer in me took control of the wheel and we exited the highway at the next road headed north to try to get a little closer.  Bands of Rain  Finger of God Those who are familiar with Eastern Colorado know that the side-roads are flat and straight so it wasn’t long before we caught up to what had developed into a really nasty thunderstorm! Sinister gray/green storm clouds streamed bands of rain and hail frequented by vicious lightning strikes and booming thunder. The extremely hostile conditions seemed perfect for tornadic activity to develop. Could this finally be my chance? But we were dangerously close to the action and as much as I’d aspired to photograph an active tornado, I wasn’t too fond of the prospect of meeting Dorothy and the Munchkins just yet. We wisely decided to track east and parallel the path of the storm. The first road east was unimproved but was far enough away to follow the storm from what seemed a safer distance. We drove along that dirt road for many miles watching the skies and waiting for any new and exciting developments to occur. We pulled over many times to document the cloud formations lightning strikes and sheets of rain while overhead we remained dry. It was perfect! But when our road took a dog-leg to the left and we found ourselves heading north, things began to get a little dicey. The sky in the direction we were now driving was the darkest we’d seen yet! I suggested going back to where we had been driving earlier but a quick glance in the rear-view mirror indicated that the conditions behind us had also taken a dramatic turn for the worse. A massive wall of mysterious, anvil-shaped gray clouds had formed in the sky behind us. Fascinated with this newest development, I pulled over to grab a few more photos but when I opened the door to step out, I was nearly knocked to the ground by the power of sustained gale-force winds. Fortunately no rain was falling and despite the imminent danger, I braced myself against my Jeep and kept shooting. Then, it happened! Somewhere near the axis of the wall cloud, a steady stream of gray dust-like material appeared and crept ghost-like along the ground toward the tip of the anvil. As the eerie ghost began to rise skyward toward the menacing cloud, I shouted in excitement, ”Hang onto your hat. ..THIS IS IT!” We were sure that we were witnessing the makings of a true twister!  Wall Cloud  Wall Cloud with Ground-Level Activity  Vertical Motion I continued firing away to document all evolving stages of development but was somewhat saddened when no actual rope was able to make landfall. At least not that we could see. We remained at that site until the storm began to show apparent signs of weakening then plotted a course back to the highway. But the fun wasn’t over yet! A huge wind-driven dust storm blanketed the road ahead of us reducing our visibility to near zero. We could not see the road ahead and even worse, we could no longer monitor what was going on in the skies above. Eventually, the wind subsided and the dust dissipated to the point where visibility was restored and we could see that the skies overhead had thickened further to an ugly charcoal gray. The first few trickles of rain developed into a raging torrent. Then came the hail! Horrendous swarms of quarter-sized meteoric pellets blasted into the windshield with a force that I was certain would shatter the glass. I remembered having earlier referenced meeting Dorothy and the Munchkins but now, Scarecrow’s memorable catch-phrase seemed somewhat more germane: “… IF I ONLY HAD A BRAIN!!” This was pure insanity! The horrific hailstorm continued for what seemed an eternity and when it finally ended we pulled over to assess the damages. Careful inspection indicated that my vehicle had miraculously survived the icy onslaught with no visible dents or cracks. For that, I felt relieved but I was aware that we had since become encircled by an opaque blanket of growing gloom. True, the rain and hail had ended but the wind had mysteriously expired to a breathless whisper. The atmosphere was viscid and leaden with the aroma of ozone and an eerie silence of death permeated the surrounding landscape, save for the incessant rumblings of muted thunder emanating from high above a dark canopy of cloud. This was our most frightening time of all! I remember thinking, “This can’t be good,” and vowed to get us away from this monster--and FAST!  Mesocyclonic Supercell As we hurried along our escape route toward the interstate, Vince noticed yet another strange development in the skies overhead. A broken semi-circle of lighter-colored clouds had formed and appeared to indicate possible rotation. And, it was growing! At first, I shrugged off his discovery as merely an over-active imagination at work but the circular formation continued to manifest itself into a defined mesocyclonic supercell. Hovering over the High Plains like the mythical Mother Ship from Independence Day, this latest atmospheric phenomenon proved to be the most fascinating and photogenic development of the now dying storm. It seemed somehow ironic to have risked life and limb only to be rewarded with the best photographic opportunity during the storm’s demise. And so I guess my rendezvous with the tornado will have to wait until next time. Until then, tell Scarecrow I said “Hey. “ Bob Cammarata's Personal Bio: I am a Maryland photographer who specializes in nature in all its forms. For as long as I can remember, my love for the outdoors has inspired me to capture nature's beauty and intrigue. My primary interests photographically involve traveling the country and getting up close and personal with subjects in nature. My travels have taken me to every corner of the U.S. and parts of Canada but in today’s economy, it’s becoming evermore difficult to plan a road trip unless it’s all downhill! I prefer to shoot in full-manual 100% of the time because I believe that it affords the ultimate in control and accurately represents the challenges and rewards that this great art has to offer. I’m an active member of BetterPhoto.com and a regular contributor to their Forums and Newsletters. My photos have been published in business brochures and on Bugguide and other popular wildlife sites and many have been sold as fine art prints. Lately though, I do this for fun. I believe photography to be the therapy which keeps one sane in a crazy world. Feel free to visit my website at www.cammphoto.com -- All photography by Bob Cammarata _______________________ What do you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me [at this moment there are only two stories still on tap--we need YOURS!]. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you! -- Michelle Alton ______________________________________________________________ |
Friday, May 6, 2011
Next Stop Oz!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Talking Royal Wedding Blues
My wonderful neighbors, Greg and Liza Taylor recently celebrated Greg’s birthday in London (while I chronicled Spring bursting forth in their garden (Bonus shots at the end of the story). During their trips abroad, Greg has generally produced a daily update of their travels in the form of an ever-so-erudite travelogue. On this short fling in London, he broke with his usual style and interjected a bit of “fluff” regarding his lost invitation to the Royal Wedding. And I break with tradition to bring you a story having nothing whatever to do with photography, but nevertheless a story of true Relentless Pursuit! You’re sure to enjoy enjoy Greg’s unique brand of self deprecating humor as you delight in sorting the truth of the tale from the historical whimsy!P.S:. You may need to keep a handbook of British heraldry close to your arm chair.
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Thanks so much for visiting "Tales of Relentless Pursuit." If you have a free moment or two, please check out my Photography Website, Your Best Shot, and sign up for the mailing list! And also consider sending the link to this blog to your circle of friends.
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Michelle Alton
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TALKING ROYAL WEDDING BLUES
April 10
Weeks have gone by and still no sign of the Invitation. Called the Royal Chamberlain and was told they had no record. Told them there must be a mistake,and please take more care with the checking. Transferred to what seems to be their Department of Monetary Affairs for Canada: seemed odd to me too, but then why would there by so much talk in the background about the Loony. Still no trace. Nothing for it but to go to London myself.
Leaving from Philadelphia is a vastly more pleasant experience than using New York’s JFK. Parked right in front of our terminal and walked in; at JFK the parking is in a different time zone, and you need to get shots. Went to line up at British Air, fully prepared for the usual hour or so among the shuffling damned, and was astounded that the line was us. Pleasant wait and good seats. A bit late on take-off, owing to an airline debacle, but an uneventful flight.
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| Leaving Brooklyn (Photograph by Michelle Alton) |
Breezed through Customs: was ready with Oscar Wilde's "Only my genius" if they asked me if I had anything to declare, but they didn't. Took the Tube into London, reading "Time Out London" to see what to catch. Rabid to try "Aida" at the Royal Opera or the new Rory Kinnear "Hamlet." Short walk to the hotel.
The Montague Hotel on the Garden is in Bloomsbury, across from the British Museum. Room a bit small: have to step outside to change your mind.
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| Hotel Shower |
We spent the early afternoon exploring Bloomsbury. We love to get lost and wander, since one always fetches up back at the British Museum. Saw many good restaurants, over and above the tourist traps, and located Busaba Eatthai, which nicely presents Asian and other foods. Great lunch.
Spent the remainder of the afternoon communing with the Elgin Marbles and the other wonders of the museum. Light dinner and so to bed.
April 12
Up betimes {translation: in good time or bright and early--ed.} and called the College of Heralds. Put through to the Griffin Pursuivant Gules, who is their top man on Invitations snafus. Told him about the misunderstanding and the need to correct Gregory, Marquis of Wode with Gregory Taylor. After some whispered discussions in the background, I was given to the Lion Couchant D’or, who noted that we would need a fair degree of follow-up, since while the hereditary marquis got a free pass, the line went extinct in 1321 when the last Gregory was hanged owing to an ownership dispute involving a horse. Gave him my forebears as far back as I could. After taking my credit card information, promised to call the hotel shortly with results.
After a fortifying breakfast we walked in unaccustomed sun and then took the Tube to Pimlico for the Tate. We very much enjoy their pageant of English paintings, and I particularly like the Pre-Raphaelites. Their Recent Acquisitions left much to be desired, however, as one involved a Murano glass chandelier the size of a well-fed studio apartment, which blinked on and off without pattern. Probably defective wiring, but for what they paid, they should get it fixed.
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| Yorkshire Pudding for Breakfast? |
On a more solemn mission, we took a double-decker bus along the Thames to Westminster, then the Tube to Tower Hill.
We had promised our neighbor, Jeff, that we would look up the monument to the Merchant Marine. Jeff's father had been First Radio Officer on the Almeda Star, lost with all hands in 1941{torpedoed by U-96 in the North Atlantic, in January--ed.}, and there is a memorial we wanted to see. The monument sits in its own park, covering several blocks of well-kept grass and plantings, the former of which was well used by Londoners delighting in the weather.
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| Tower Hill Park |
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| Alton, T. F. Father of neighbor, Jeff |
After walking around Mayfair we tubed to Covent Garden. It was the work of a minute to find the Royal Opera House. As luck would have it, they did indeed have tickets to "Aida" tomorrow night. Our soaring hopes, however, were dashed when we did the quick arithmatic and found that seats in the Second Balcony (all that was available) would separate us from 540 dearly loved dollars. Wondering if our accents suggested idle wealth, we sadly departed. Walked back,
delighting in the neighborhood and the hustling crowds...
After a light dinner (all we could manage after the splendid lunch), an early evening.
April 13
The sun is shining in England and nowhere brighter than Bloomsbury, where good news wings its way from the College of Heralds. Unsleeping labor has been crowned with success, as they have closed in on Gregory, Marquis of Wode. The call this morning said that they were back to 1535, with Harold of Scode, a distant ancestor of mine. While not himself a clear descendent of our illustrious borrower of horses, they said that his coat of arms was breathtakingly similar. If one replaces the lions rampant with ducks couchant and the eagles with spaniels, and changes the gules for argent, they are virtually identical. Harold was an Oxford scholar, who achieved fame by debating Henry VIII on the proposition "Resolved, the King can do no wrong." Harold took the off side, and while the King won the votes of all those courtiers present, it was considered a spirited debate. Never one to hold a grudge, the king showed his puckish humor by having Harold parboiled. The College felt strongly that they were closing in on Wode, although their zeal had apparently maxed out the credit card I had given them. One does not count nickels at a time like this, and I gave them two more.
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| "The King Can Do No Wrong" (Google Images) |
We had labored for weeks to get into the highly fashionable restaurant "Dinner", the masterwork of Heston Blumenthal. Our efforts were crowned with success and we had a luncheon reservation. The restaurant's premise is to use recipes from years past (try 1585) in the preparation of modern dishes. Liza, never one to shy from a challenge, had an appetizer that involved a ragout of pig's ear (nor could I restrain myself from comments involving silk purses). I had a wonderful lemon salad. Our entrees involved an exquisite salmon dish and splendid quail. For administrative reasons, we were obliged to have four desserts, and barely left the place without help. Thus fortified, Liza put Knightsbridge to the sack, and thus sated and laden we repaired to our hotel.
April 14
No word from the College, we spent the morning at the British Museum. Oppressed by battalions of foreign students, who seemed interested only in getting their pictures taken in front of one splendor or another before moving on. Still, what can you say about being able to see large pieces of the original Mausoleum. You don't get an Ancient Wonder of the World every day, and we enjoyed it.
Transferred after noon to the Mandarin Oriental, which is in Knightsbridge across the street from Harvey Nichols. The location was not lost on Liza, and our clothing was barely unpacked before we were walking down Sloan Street in quest for a sale promising ruin to the venders. Took a wonderful double-decker down Kings Road, and spent a useful and constructive time putting Britain back on the gold standard.
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| Putting Britain back on the Gold Standard (shot by an obliging tourist in front of "Vic 'n Al") |
This can only take its toll, so we went directly to Wagamama for noodles and beer, at prices normally associated with lobster and champagne. Stopped off at Harrods food court for provisions and dragged them back to the hotel for a splendid dinner.
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| Tomatoes at Harrods |
Well, the Dragon Puissant {Powerful Dragon--ed.} finally got back to us as we were preparing to bid a fond farewell to the Mandarin Oriental. Seems there was good news and bad news. Never one to back down from the worst, I took the bitter first. Their research finally explained the origin of Gregory of Wode's hereditary invitation. Seems he was hanging with the Prince and caught him about to shag the tavern wench. Put him wise that she had the most clinically interesting case of clap in Worcestershire, the kind where the doctor tells you up front that the good news is that if he cures you, he's famous. Appalled at the narrow brush he had had with a loathsome disease, the Prince stated then and there that Gregory and his line in perpetuity would always be welcome at the royal weddings (anticipating, not without reason, that a discerning eye as to social diseases might come in handy before the nuptials). All very interesting, of course, but when I asked Puissant to cut to the chase, the bottom line was that Wode's misunderstanding about the horse caught him short one heir. The line is extinct, even for ready money.
My disappointment can only be surmised. Ever one to take the rough with the smooth, I asked about the good news. Learned that I was only two virgin credit cards away from being declared the true and rightful king of Latvia. Thanking the Dragon, I took a pass, the underground to the airport and the next flight home. I will watch the wedding on TV, but if there's a guy there named Wode, I want my money back.
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| Disappointment (Photo by Michelle Alton) [a section of mosaic flooring at Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens] |
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All photos by Liza Taylor unless otherwise specified.
Greg Taylor Bio
Taylor was raised in coastal New Jersey (not the Jersey Shore) but left as soon as he could spell carcinogenic. After happy years at school in Virginia and eventful years at school in Boston, he settled in New York's Brooklyn Heights for a blameless career as a securities attorney. Now retired to Bucks County, Pennsylvania, he works as a harmless drudge in the Sisyphus-like labor of planting his garden faster than the deer can eat it {Sisyphus was a king punished by being compelled to roll an immense boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down, and to repeat this throughout eternity.--ed.} Sometimes gets to travel.
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I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me [at this moment there are only two stories still on tap--we need YOURS!]. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!
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Michelle Alton
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Bonus: Taylors' Garden, Photographs by Michelle Alton
(Click on photo to enlarge)
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| Taylors' House |
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| Gardener Greg |
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| Day Lillies in the Night |
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| The Apple doesn't Fall Far From the Tree |
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| Alliums and Rhodos |
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| Bee in Fox Glove |
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| Echinacea Gulch |
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| Dogwood Berries |
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| Quince |
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| Columbine |
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| Nasturtiums |
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| Astilbes Roadside |
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Brag, Brag, Brag...
Laura credits her dad, a professional photographer, for instilling in her the basic technical photographic skills—though she takes pride in the fact that he told her she was a “natural.” Much later she began to delve into digital art and she openly admits to adoring that art form. To see more of Laura’s artistry, please visit her BetterPhoto.com gallery .
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I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me [at this moment there are only two stories still on tap--we need YOURS!]. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!
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Michelle Alton
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Brag, Brag, Brag....
What started with harmless bragging ended in a perilous hunt for wild bear. Let me tell you the story.
I live in western Canada, at the eastern edge of the big, beautiful Canadian Rockies where the lakes are turquoise blue and the animals run wild and free. The air is fresh; the water is straight from our glaciers. The crime rate is low. We get more sunshine, here in Calgary Alberta Canada, than anywhere in ALL of Canada. It's heaven here on earth. Oh. Was I bragging again? I thought I had learned my lesson??? There I go again!
I was born and raised in California. At age 21 I went on a blind double date as a favor to my roommate, Kathy. My blind date was a nice, hard working Canadian fellow--Tall, blond and handsome with tight speech, so clearly Canadian. He had a logger’s beard and the strongest arms I'd ever seen on a man. (Oops! More bragging! I MUST learn my lesson!)
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| Dale Swan |
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| Engagement of Dale and Laura (Photo by Alan McKeegan 1984) |
Well, that date turned into many dates and finally turned into marriage three years later. Five years after that, in 1990, we moved to Calgary, Alberta, Canada to be near Dale’s family and we have been here ever since.
That November, so long ago, I left my own "people" behind. It was very hard for me, so my mission became to get my family and friends to come and visit as soon as possible. That is where my bragging troubles began.
I wrote regular letters to them telling of my new adventures here. Trying to sound up and positive and to be the entertaining person they always knew back home. I took many beautiful photos to enclose in each letter, hoping someone would come see us here. We moved here in the beginning of the Canadian Winter season so my first letters were filled with tales of survival in the great white North!!! The very night we arrived, U-hauls in tow, it was -25 degrees C. This was unheard of to someone like me or my "people." We were all accustomed to mild and bearable weather. I had to explain to my family and friends what -25C really meant--that it was way worse than sticking your head in the freezer for a prolonged period of time! And how we had to dress in several layers of clothing wearing Kodiak socks on our frozen feet. Walking outside with huge big Alaskan boots on and parkas was the “norm” for Rocky Mountain “garb.” Oh, and of course, not forgetting to add the final fashion touch. face masks to avoid frost bite.
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| Laura |
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| Frost on the Window |
My tales must have gripped them, as they’d reply saying that they were at the edge of their seats waiting for my next letter and more photos to arrive. My bragging about Canada, and about the unusual, was paying off big time with every description of crunching snow beneath our feet.
Well when our first spring and summer finally came, and our nose hairs no longer froze fetching the mail from the box, and song birds returned to Canada, windows opened and I had much better things to report. The beauty of the Canadian Rockies was emerging. We were able to make the drive up into the woodlands of the mountains where waterfalls and nature became available to me for the first time. My letters and photos of Canada made Calgary a bigger temptation for them as a travel destination!
Friends and family began to trickle up, even in that first summer. Then more arrived in the next years where they experienced the immense beauty for themselves, returning home to spread the word that all that Laura wrote about was true! Turquoise lakes, bears in abundance, moose, eagles, foxes, elk, all
running and flying wild and free. The beautiful Canadian Rocky Mountains. They all returned to their homes doing their own bragging about this heaven on earth!!!
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| Visiting Friends from the American Midwest, Ron and Shirley McEwan |
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Kiki Kjaer (from Denmark) and Laura Swan (Photo by Leif Kjaer) |
There was only one person in my immediate family that I just couldn’t seem to talk into coming here. My eldest brother. My sister flew up to visit as did my nephew; then a second cousin’s wife, my aunt, cousins, friends, and the list got longer from there…Everyone that was able, came. But not my brother.
Nothing I'd say would get him to come see me. No bragging seemed to do the trick. He seemed determined not to visit. ”Too far away” for him. “Too busy working -- No time, no time, NO TIME...
Then one shocking happy Summer 17 years after we moved here, he changed his mind and said, "YES!", he'd come. He wanted to see me and to see some wild life--The BEARS-- The ones I always bragged about.
At some point during my absence from California my big brother had become a hunter. Wild Boar, Bear, Deer...So the notion of seeing animals running wild and in abundance, (under protection of the land), seemed to spark his interest.
He stayed for ten glorious days as did many of our visitors. I guess the word spread that ten days was a good amount. Not too short and long enough to see the BEARS!
As we did with everyone else, we took my brother sightseeing all around the wilderness of the Rockies. I drove; Dale and my brother sat in the back seat in style. Almost every day we got up early and headed straight into the Rockies. Banff, Kananaskis, Johnston's Canyon, several lakes...all the famous spots...My brother salivated at each huge wild elk that we'd see. Each deer, each eagle, fox
or whatever. We stopped to take photos when we could.
I was glad he didn't have his rifle or a permit! (Insert nervous laughter here on my part!) Each day someone would remark that we hadn't seen a bear yet. We searched hard and strained our eyes! It was uncanny that we hadn't. We drove to the tops of Rockies, around secret roads that only the locals like us know about. We hiked, nature trailed along rivers and took gondolas. Not a bear in sight. So we brought picnic food to eat in the car and had fun, making the best of it anyway. Each day brought different weather. Sunshine, rain, sleet and even snow at the mountain tops! Each day brought everything but a you-know-what!
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| My Brother On the Banff Gondola, Sulphur Mountain. |
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Moraine Lake, Banff Natioanal Park, Alberta Canada |
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Lake Minnewanka, Banff National Park |
That 8th day, when I woke up something hit me. OH MY GOSH. I felt it in my heart. TODAY WE WILL SEE Three BEARS! ("Huh?!" I said to myself, “Three? LAURA. Don't you DARE say that to anyone. That is just going too far with the empty hopes! A dead worm on a fishing hook!”)
So I marched to the breakfast table, and contrary to my beliefs, said to the boys, “Today we are GOING to see three bears!!!" Well, this got a good laugh and I said "You just wait and see!" After I said this, I said in my heart to myself, "Laura, listen to you! WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU ABOUT BRAGGING??? Your bragging has just gone too far this time! What if we don't see a bear today?"
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| Wedge Pond, Kananaskis Country Alberta |
On this day we would take my big brother to Lake Louise. It is a very famous lake far into the Rockies. When we arrived it snowed a little. It was so beautiful...I was hopeful because it is Lake Louise that we ALWAYS see bears! ALWAYS! Well always, for 17 years, except on this day.
On our way home, with my head hanging low, we drove back through the Banff National Park. All of a sudden, we saw a crowd of cars on the right shoulder of the road! HA! This was a good sign! People always crowd around and park their cars on the road if they see an animal! Could it be my three bears?
Well...NO! It wasn't! But it was ONE BEAR! One big, beautiful GRIZZLY BEAR eating dandelions, peacefully. Hurray!!!!!!!!! One bear was better than NO BEARS. Excited for my brother, I watch as he opened his car door slowly and crept out of the back seat like a true hunter, leaving the door open behind him as not to make a sound. He was in his element. He had found what he was waiting for. He set his camera and zoomed in for his prized photos to take home with him to show the family.
A very ignorant male tourist with a fancy camera ran up the hill there charging the fence trying to startle the bear to get a better shot of its face, maybe hoping the grizzly bear would rear up! Little did he know that with one retorted charge that bear could have easily plowed that fencing down and we'd all have been history!
Gratefully the bear had more sense than the man and soon ran off into the woods, roaring. Several other tourists then roared at the ignorant tourist and we all got back in our cars and left. As we drove off my brother said, "Well Sis you were right. We saw a bear today.” With renewed confidence and obviously no sense in my head I said, "Yes, but that was only ONE bear. We have two more to go!" They laughed. I smiled.
Before exiting the Banff National Park gates there was one more place I wanted to show my brother and felt we had time to do so: Mount Norquay. Many postcard photos are shot from there overlooking the Banff Townsite. It’s so very pretty. There is a huge ski hill at the top and it is always very worth taking the riveting two lane road up and back. On the way back it's a bit of a “white knuckle” ride down because it's on the outer edge and on cliffs. The views from there are spectacular. It would be our last thrill for the day.
My brother, tired but very impressed with another fun filled Canadian day, sat in the back seat of our car with his window down enjoying the fresh mountain air. As we slowly made our way back down Mt. Norquay we almost got into a wreck around one of the tight and blind bends in the road. Thankfully I was driving very slowly at the time. That is all that saved us.
There were three vehicles stopped in their tracks. Something was happening there. Up on the side of the green grassy hill, but what? We couldn't see anything yet. As cameras ahead of us hung out of camper and truck windows we waited our turn in the back of the line. I said "Get your cameras ready folks. We have wild life ahead. Maybe more mountain sheep or MAYBE OUR BEARS?" I said in
suspenseful and joking tones, raising my eye brows at them! Okay. I know you readers here are clever right? But at the time we were not and had no idea what it would be.
"It" was a "them"!
It was a Mama Black Bear and her two new little springtime cubs!!! Her darling babies were little and round and fat and brown (as many cubs can be until they age). They couldn't have been more than 20 pounds each. It was so exciting. She had them there at a fallen tree trunk and she was banging on it to break it up for them. There were maggots inside the rotting trunk and she was teaching them to eat!
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| Black Bear Cubs |
With the bears acting completely unaware of any of us, we took many respectfully quiet photos and eased away so the next car could see what was there. We never got great head shots but with bears you take what you can get, and quietly move on.
This all happened four years ago now, and my brother is still busy back in California bragging about our Relentless Pursuit of the bears and the final victory that his little sister Laura foretold with confidence on that eighth day at the breakfast table.
"Not three bears, like she predicted, but we actually saw four!"
So friends, my bragging rights and reputation unscathed, my stories are still much revered back home. Have I learned my lesson about bragging? Hmm...I don't know. Oh say, have I told you yet about the time we...Oh never mind. Maybe I'd better not?
Laura Swan’s Bio
Born and raised in Northern California with a professional photographer for a father, I learned very early how to compose and shoot photographs. Although digital art is my first love, I have always enjoyed the challenge of making a great shot.
I feel very blessed to now live just a short drive from the Great Canadian Rockies, where there are always new and exciting things to shoot and on which to ply my digital artistry. I shoot with a Nikon D90 and a great point-and-shoot Canon PowerShot SD800 IS.
My work can be seen at my BetterPhoto.com gallery.
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All photos, unless otherwise stated, are by Laura Swan.
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Thanks so much for visiting "Tales of Relentless Pursuit." If you have a free moment or two, please check out my Photography Website, Your Best Shot, and sign up for the mailing list! And also consider sending the link to this blog to your circle of friends.
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